


cause when you look at me, im burning from that smile

by Weaseltotheface



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Episode 106, F/F, Get in bitches we're manifesting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weaseltotheface/pseuds/Weaseltotheface
Summary: Post episode 106Continuing a sacred tradition, after the celebration Beau and Yasha take watch and talk
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 35
Kudos: 251





	cause when you look at me, im burning from that smile

**Author's Note:**

> I was embarrassed the entire time I was writing this. Anyway, had to post it before the episode airs to manifest that beauyasha energy

She doesn't really know what makes her say it to be honest. The lingering rush of adrenaline from the day, the late hour, the -in hindsight- severely ill-advised bottomless flask of harsh, bottom-shelf whiskey. 

The way the firelight had glinted off of Yasha's hair at the celebration. 

Whatever the cause, the effect was the same. 

"I'm not tired yet. Yasha and I can take first watch." It slips off her tongue before she can stop it. If she even wants to. 

She ignores the looks her friends give her, nearly audible in their intensity, and the excited thrashing of Jester’s tail to focus on Yasha, who had snapped her head away from her pack to look directly at her. 

Beau wasn't sure what the look in her eye meant, but she hoped it was good. "You up for it, Yash?"

"Of course, Beau." Yasha murmured, slowly unfolding herself from the floor and dusting herself off. “I’d be happy to join you.”

They both pointedly ignored the muttered “Of course you would.” from Fjord and the accompanying giggle that could only have come from Jester.

“Veth and I will take second shift, you two. Have a good watch.” Caleb told them off hand, riffling through his components, “Don’t get into any trouble.”

“Yeah yeah, thanks Caleb.” Beau nodded at Yasha and jerked her head in the direction of the exit. “Sleep tight, guys.” 

“Good night everyone.” Yasha’s soft voice calls out, following Beau outside of Vilya’s house to take a post by the door. With a short, wary glance around she flops bonelessly to the floor, and leans against the wall. 

Beau snorts and folds gracefully into a cross-legged position next to her, “Sorry for volunteering you for watch, you’re probably tired.” 

She can feel Yasha’s gaze on the side of her face, intense, but not unwelcome. “ No, Beau, I said I was happy to join you and I am.” 

The burning feeling of eyes on her skin fades and a barely audible huff of a derisive laugh reaches her ears. “I am not tired anyway, that fight was… not one of my best to say the least.”

Beau frowned, adjusting herself to look Yasha straight on. 

“Hey,” she pokes Yasha in the knee to get her to look at her. Something in her chest squeezed tight when their eyes met. “Yasha, you did what you could, no one blames you.”

“I did nothing but-but get hypnotized again!” Yasha lowers her gaze, teeth grit and grinding, knuckles white with effort against the black of her tunic. “I’m far more hindrance than help at this point.”

Beau feels that squeezing in her chest again. Concern, she realizes, and sighs. “I know that no matter what I say it won’t really help. I know how you feel. Honestly, I do.” She holds up a hand as Yasha begins to protest. 

“Seriously. Honestly, part of the reason I wanted to take watch with you was to check in. We didn’t really talk about it much.”

Yasha just nods, fists relaxing slowly, fingers rubbing at invisible dirt on her clothes. “No, we did not. I didn’t really want to, I guess.” She exhales slowly, turning her face towards the sky. “I’m so tired of it. Losing control of myself.”

“There’s stuff we can do, you know, to help?” Beau scratches at the back of her neck, jade tattoo glinting through the gaps of her fingers, and tries to catch Yasha’s eye. “Orly can do magic tattoos, like mine. The jade helps focus you, keep you in touch with yourself. It’s not foolproof, but it’s a start. 

I think it’d be good for you.”

Hesitantly, hand barely trembling, Yasha lifts her fingers to the nape of her own neck. Beau watches her shaking fingers stroke pale skin and remembers the ember glow of Obann's control burning there, like a sick brand. Silently, she maneuvers her body closer to Yasha's, settling in front of her. 

"I think I would like that very much." Yasha's voice cracks slightly near the end, but no tears are visible. Beau feels her heart clench in her chest again, aches to comfort. The palms of her hands burn to touch her, so she does. 

The weight and warmth of Beau's hands on her knees seems to startle her briefly, enough to pull her from her reverie and lock eyes. Yasha's hand slips from the back of her neck slowly, timidly, unsure. Her expression flutters for a brief moment before she places her hand down by Beau's, the digits twitch, like they’re reaching to touch, but only the radiating heat of her hand brushes Beau's skin. 

"We can help you with this, Yash," Beau starts, pressing her fingers into Yasha's knees. "We can get the jade, i'll crush it myself for you, we'll sit with you while you get it done.

"We all really want to help you, you know? Because you deserve it. Not for us or anyone else. Because we want YOU to feel safe and -and like… happy and shit." 

She huffs slightly, fingers drumming an agitated staccato on Yasha's knee, "Understand?"

A deep throaty chuckle is her answer, the rasp of it sends a jolt down her spine. 

"I do, Beau." Yasha's voice is soft, but carries in the space between them, and she covers Beau's restless fingers with her own. "I feel like I am very lucky to have you all with me. To believe in me, I guess, even when… especially when… I feel I do not deserve it. Thank you, Beau."

Yasha grins at her then, full and toothy, like Beau has never seen her smile before. She picks out a lightness in Yasha's gaze that is foreign, the light lines of laughter around her eyes. That seemingly permanent, worried frown line melted away between her eyebrows. 

It's a vision and Beau is certain this is the sort of moment that bards write songs about.

"I like the way you say my name." Beau mutters, breath gone, eyes wide, head empty.

Yasha's eyebrows climb higher, ever so slightly, surprise dimming -but not extinguishing- the brightness of her smile. She watches a flush crawl up Beau’s neck into her face, the intensity of it somehow visible under her dark skin. 

Beau's mouth opens, then closes with an audible click of teeth on teeth, and opens again, "uh...OK right so my brain just like, says things without asking me first tonight I guess."

She moves to pull her hands from Yasha's awkwardly, all too aware of the flushed grimace on her face, but Yasha's grip holds her fast. 

Beau’s breath catches in her throat, Yasha’s hands are rough and dry and  _ big _ , and she can feel every detail of them against her own. She watches carefully as Yasha’s calloused thumbs brush over the remnants of burn scars on her knuckles.

“You’re fine, Beau.” Yasha’s smile is gentle, the dusting of pink over her pale skin endearing, “If it makes you feel better, I like saying your name.” 

A smile spreads slowly over Beau’s face and she nods.

“Yeah… that does make me feel better.” 

The blush is still evident on Yasha’s face when she lets go of Beau’s hands. She strokes one last line across the damaged skin, considering, and lets Beau’s fingers slip through her grip. Beau aches at the loss, but Yasha’s smile is soft and comforting and she can’t help but grin back.

Silence reigns in the moments after Yasha’s hands return to her. The quiet punctuated only by distant sounds of bird call and insects. It’s peaceful, but the awkwardness that is so familiar to them begins to creep in. 

Beau shuffles around, somehow graceful even in her fumbling, and produces the flask from within her coat. She gets up onto her knees to hobble clumsily next to Yasha to sit, knees up and arms outstretched. Flask sloshing faintly, she takes a careful sip and returns her arms to her knees, idly passing the flask from hand to hand. 

“Soooo…” Beau clears her throat, “it’s pretty tonight, huh?”

Yasha breathes another throaty chuckle and let’s her head lean back against the wall, “It is a nice night… I’m glad you volunteered me for watch.” 

Beau’s laugh is harsh and loud, choked off like she wasn’t expecting it, “Oh boy, yeah…” 

She hums, catching Yasha’s attention, who doesn’t move her head, just looks her way through the corner of her eye. Beau lifts the flask from where she was fidgeting between her knees.

“Want some?”

Yasha hesitates for a split second before shrugging and reaching over and grabbing it from Beau’s outstretched hand. Her fingers graze busted knuckles again and they both jolt as if shocked.

“How are your hands, Beau?” She asks, taking a sip from the flask. “I know you received a lot of healing, but they still look… bad. I’m sorry I left you to fight him so close alone.” 

Beau frowns. Deft hands reach over and pluck the flask right out from under Yasha’s nose. She ignores the frankly adorable, drawn out little “nooo” and takes a sip herself.

“We’re not starting that conversation again. The flask is only for people who listen to their friends now.” 

Yasha’s face wrinkles in a faint pout, “I’m sorry, may I please have the flask back?”

Grinning, Beau hands it over. “Not so hard huh?” Yasha just rolls her eyes, already taking another sip from the flask.

“Will you answer my question, though? I worry about you, you know… you’re always like… right up in there, you know? You got pretty beat up this time. And I’m supposed to help you up there and I… was not able to this time.”

Beau takes a moment, rubbing her hands together, layers of scar tissue criss crossing over her skin in a lattice. The remnants of Vokodo’s burns all but faded. 

“I’m good, Yash. Seriously.” She reaches out for the flask again, “I got magic punches. Sometimes it hurts me, but I’ll take it to protect you guys. Anytime. It’s worth it.” 

“I understand the sentiment.” Yasha murmurs, voice soft as always, “I just wish you didn’t have to hurt yourself to do it.” 

Offering the flask back, Beau nudges Yasha’s elbow with her own and grins, “Well I’m glad I have you up there with me.” Yasha opens her mouth to protest, “NO, shut up. I’m glad you’re there for me. Sentinel babes all the way.” 

Yasha nods seriously, like taking an oath, “Yeah… All the way.” 

“And no matter what happens, I know you’ll check up on me after. And I’ll check up on you. It's what we do. We look out for each other.”

Beau’s voice is quiet as she says it, not nearly as brash as usual. Sincerity drips from every word and she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed by it when she sees the muted look of awe on Yasha’s face.

“I will. Check up on you, I mean. Always, Beau.” 

There’s a desperation in Yasha’s voice, an earnestness that catches Beau off guard. The words settle in her chest and warmth blooms in the spaces between her ribs, like flowers, like fire catching. Emotion chokes her and she swallows it down. 

“...Thanks, Yasha.” 

If the catch in her voice is noticeable, it was thankfully ignored.

“You deserve nothing less.” 

The night is still again and Beau can’t stand the silence. 

“Anyway, I’ve got a wicked new magic staff now. It’ll really help with those bastards that hurt to punch.” 

Yasha nods, thoughtful, “Ah, yes. From Vokodo. What did you say it was called? Belieber?”

Choking back a laugh Beau replies, “It’s called Belabor. Like… it literally means to hit something a lot.”   
  
“Hmmm...Yes, that fits well.” She takes another sip from the flask and passes it to Beau. “It fits you.” 

“That’s what I said!” Beau exclaimed, excitedly, arms flailing and spilling whiskey from the flask onto her pants. “Aw man… I guess we should be done with this now, huh?” 

“Mm, probably for the best.” Yasha told her, reaching into a small pack and pulling out a wad of cloth. “here, to clean off your pants.” 

“Thanks.”

Yasha hummed and settled back again, eyes closed, the subtle flush of whiskey under her skin. “I’m glad you have Belabor now. Though it will be a shame if you stop punching things completely. Watching you go toe to toe with some of the stuff we have fought… it’s definitely a sight to behold.”

A dopey grin spreads across Beau’s face, “Oh yeah?” She flexes her arms, ropey muscle pulling taut and Yasha nods. “It _ is _ what I’m best at.” 

“You’re very good at very many things, Beau.” Yasha swallows, mouth dry, and crosses her arms, “but you do have very capable hands.” 

Beau’s bravado falters in the face of sincerity.

“Oh.” 

Muted panic seems to run like melted ice over Yasha features, followed quickly by a flush of red, impossible to hide on her pale skin. 

“Ah...I uh. I mean-”

“Nope! No take backs. Don’t even think of apologizing either.” Without giving herself time to think or doubt herself, Beau leans her weight into Yasha’s side, “It was a compliment, and we know I love compliments.” 

Yasha is stiff at first, unused to the contact after so long. Gradually she relaxes, muscles loosening and breathing steady, into Beau’s offered warmth. She smells like whiskey and woodsmoke and pine and the comfort is immeasurable.

“How much of that whiskey did you have, Beau?” The sound of her laugh reverberates through her chest and Beau hears it clear as day where her ear is pressed against the hard plane of her arm. 

“Enough.” Is the only answer she gets. 

A sigh rattles through Yasha, draining the last of her tension into the night air. And Beau looks up at her face as best as she can, eyes bright and guileless, whiskey and exhaustion projecting her vulnerability. 

Yasha thinks she’s beautiful. 

“Yasha?”

“Yes, Beau?”

“You said you had a dream,” She starts, voice softer than Yasha can ever remember it being, “Will you tell me about it?” 

Yasha hums quizzically, “You want to hear about my dream? Really?” 

Beau nods, the scratchy fabric of Yash’s tunic not phasing her, eyes still tracing the outlines of Yasha’s face. “If you want to tell me. I’d really like to hear about it.” 

“O-ok, if you really want to hear it, I can tell you.” She meets Beau’s gaze, the cobalt of her eyes slightly glassy and so, so beautiful in the moonlight that she has to look away. Instead she picks a spot on the horizon to look towards and worries at her nails. 

“It-it was beautiful, honestly. A vast expanse of water as far as I could see.” She begins and Beau presses closer eagerly, one hand coming up to grip at Yasha’s sleeve. “There were storm clouds everywhere. It was so dark and so ominous…”

Yasha seems to lose her train of thought, eyes unfocused on the middle distance. Beau pokes her once and she comes back to herself. She catches Beau’s eye and apologizes.

“Sorry. Anyway...um so there was a feather. It floated down from the sky and it landed in the water and I went to pick it up.” Beau makes an encouraging sound, seemingly entranced. “I went to pick it up, but it didn’t work the first time, so I tried again and the Stormlord spoke to me. Told me to be… brave and stuff. I guess.

“After I picked up the feather, lightning struck me and it hurt so bad but after…” A push of air leaves Yasha in a rush and in its place a breathless sort of giddiness, and an excited smile that Beau can’t turn away from, “After, the Stormlord told me to show him I could be reborn. So I-I took out my wings.

“Beau, it was so - it was amazing to watch.” Yasha bit her lip, trying to contain her giddy grin. “They were still - still weird and, and dead, when I took them out, but I watched the feathers grow in. One by one.”

Another rattling sigh shakes Yasha’s frame and Beau is taken by the magnitude and multitude of emotions she sees raging on her face. 

“Yasha,” Her voice is barely a breath in the air, “Yasha, that’s beautiful. That’s amazing.” 

“Yeah… Yeah it  _ was _ amazing, Beau.”

“Was that the end?” Beau asks, rearranging to place her head in Yasha’s lap, crossing a leg over her bent knee. 

“Ah...no.” Hesitantly, she reaches out to run her fingers through Beau’s loose hair. “It was not the end.”

“Well...do you want to tell me the rest?”

“I...I do. I suppose.” 

“Well, have at it then. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Yasha smiles down at Beau in her lap. Hair mostly loose and scattered, eye makeup smudged and smokey. The slight wrinkle of concern or curiosity in her brow. She takes her thumb and smooths out the crease and looks off back towards her point on the horizon.

“After my feathers grew in, the water around me became clear. I could see forever, just hillsides covered in broken chains and shackles. I heard a voice calling to me. At first I wasn’t sure what to make of it but… I knew it was Zuala.” 

Beau’s eyes flew open, all traces of her previous lethargy evaporating into the wind. She kept her position in Yasha’s lap, noting that the woman was still staring off into the distance, the same sad melancholy that had been missing of late, draped around her shoulders like a shawl. 

“I could have gone to her. I was tempted. But I left. I took off into the sky and when I did she - she said she was proud of me.”

The crack of Yasha’s voice was like a punch to the stomach. A lone tear tracked is way down the curve of a pale cheek and Beau wasted no time in sitting up to brush it away. 

"Oh, Yasha." Beau could feel her own eyes sting with the threat of tears while she brushed droplets off of Yasha's face with her thumb.

"I know. I know it wasn't really her." Yasha's face twists slightly into a pensive frown under Beau's hand and she lets out a dry chuckle. 

"At least, I’m pretty sure, who knows with god dreams I guess…" 

Her eyes close and she inhales shakily, like her lungs are struggling to fill. 

"Just, the thought that - that I don't have to carry this guilt anymore. That she would want me to move on and- and be happy. That she's proud of me still. It’s been a lot. And now I can fly. I can fly and it’s so wonderful, Beau. I still can't believe it."

Beau strokes her thumb down the side of Yashas face one more time and forces her to look her in the eye. 

"Yasha. I know that I never knew her. But she loved you, ok. She  _ would _ be proud of you and she would want you to be happy. Because that's what it means to love someone.

"And all of us? We're all so proud of you too, Yash. I'm proud of you."

Yashas eyes are shiny with unshed tears and awe, "You are?"

"Ha! Yeah! How could we not be proud of you? You've come so far, Yash. You can fucking fly now, you look so much more at peace. What's there not to be proud of?"

Closing her eyes, Yasha leans her face into Beau's hand ever so slightly, "Thank you, Beau. And for the record, she definitely would have liked you."

Their faces are so close together and Beau takes the moment to study Yasha, eyes still closed, face pressed into the palm of her hand. The urge to lean in and press her mouth to skin is overwhelming but she knows it's not the time. Not yet. 

Maybe soon. 

She lets her hand slide from the side of Yasha's face slowly and deliberately, nearly a caress. The whisper-soft friction of skin on skin trails goosebumps and tingles up her arm and down her spine and she feels the barest of shivers shake through Yasha's frame from where she's pressed against her. 

"I think I would have liked her too."

Yasha feels Beau pull away, and opens her eyes again. She watches her settle back down to lay across her lap again and wastes no time in tangling her fingers back into Beau's hair, already missing the connection of hands on skin. 

"That feels nice."

"Can I braid it?"

"Yeah of course, go for it, man."

Going through the motions is familiar and comforting. Beau's hair is smooth and soft and watching her pale fingers card through it is mesmerizing. 

"It's been...a long time since I've been able to do this. I've missed it."

Beau makes a curious sound in her throat and drums her fingers against her stomach, "Did you use to do this with Zuala?"

"Ah...yes." she ties off the first braid and moves onto a second, "Does...does that bother you? I can stop."

"No!" 

The force of the refusal catches them both off guard. Beau can feel her face heat up and she's sure Yasha can feel it radiating off of her. 

At least if the hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth is anything to go by. 

"Ugh...sorry." Beau rubs a sweaty palm over her face, "I like it, it feels nice, no one's ever wanted to do stuff like this for me before."

Yasha frowns. "That makes me very sad for you, Beau." 

Beau deflects with a wave if her hand, "Don't be. And anyway...I do like hearing you talk about Zuala. She means a lot to you, and I wanna know more. About you I mean. And her, and your life before you met us. You know? 

She's part of you, and you're part of us. So, if you want to, I'd love to hear more stories sometime. If you want."

A breath hitches in Yasha's chest. She spares a moment from her task to cup Beau's cheek in her palm, the skin is warm and soft against her calloused palm. Unconsciously her thumb swipes the ghost of a touch under her eye.

"You are very sweet. I will tell you stories sometime. Not now. But… sometime."

It's quiet then, as Yasha returns to her task, weaving strands of Beau's hair over and under themselves. Beau doesn't know how much time passes while she watches Yasha work. Concentration lines every crease and plane of her face, her tongue barely poking out, caught between her teeth. 

It's cute. Adorable, even. 

"I meant what I said, you know."

"Hmm?" Yasha hums a question, focused intently on tying off her latest braid. 

"When we were flying? You're incredible."

Yasha's hands still.

"Oh…"

Beau doesn't let her process and soldiers on, watching intently as a bright red flush begins to climb its way from Yasha's chest.

"I said this before...well, before everything...but there's something magnetic about you. Something...gravitational."

She lifts a hand and caresses the underside of Yasha's jaw with one finger. Her skin is flushed red and warm and goosebumps spread outwards like a ripple in a pond.

"I'm still curious to see what it is." She retracts her hand, leaving Yasha stuttering. "You don't have to say anything right now. You can finish braiding my hair though."

Yasha swallows thickly, emotion sticky like tree sap in her throat, and begins the process again. 

Strands of Beau's hair slide deftly through her fingers, over, under, across, repeat, until another braid is completed. She runs her hands over the completed braids, letting the weight of them run across her palms like water. 

"Beau?"

"Mm?"

"Would you… would you like to fly with me again tomorrow?"

The flash of Beau's teeth is bright, and the content look of her smile even brighter. 

"Yeah, Yash, I'd like that a lot."


End file.
